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His Last Call The alarm clock rang as he got out of bed Put on his clothes, and kissed his wife's head He said "'I'll see you in the morning when I’m done with my shift." And toward the front door he began to drift This firefighter started every evening this way Leaving his home before dinner each day Returning the next morning, a little before ten Just to sleep until five and start it again He arrived at the station and worked until dawn And finally punched out at eight in the morning Just as he packed all his things to go home A cry for his help came over the intercom phone "Planes have hit the World Trade Center!", he heard the man say "We need assistance now! There's no time to wait!" Without evening thinking, he dropped his bags down Got back into gear, and then headed out Although he was off duty and supposed to go home, He knew this was his job, and couldn't leave it alone So he hopped on the truck and started for the towers Expecting to be home in four or five hours As one of the first trucks to arrive, he was immediately sent in To rescue the people that were trapped within The Trade Center still stood, with smoke streaming out "Please help us! Over here!" he heard people shout So into the building he ran with his crew And every other second the cloud of smoke grew But instead of running out, down, and away This firefighter knew it was his job to stay He made his way up without looking back And thought about this surprising attack This was his city, and he knew he had to fight To the very last moment, for everyone's right The smoke was getting darker, the room getting hot He wonders to himself just how much time he's got Debris began to fall, he didn't have much longer His legs were feeling weak, his heart pounding stronger His sight was dimmer, his breath was short The weight of his body was too much to support He couldn't keep going, as his feet felt like lead And visions of his life danced in his head He thought of his childhood and all of his friends He thought of his family he'd never see again He thought of his children, his father, and mother His mind kept skipping from one to the other He thought of his brothers, he thought of sisters He thought of his wife and how much he would miss her He thought of what he would have wanted to say If he knew that he would be dying today Words couldn't explain what was going through his mind And a safe, warm place, was what he was longing to find His body was shaking, it felt stiff and tight And eventually all the dark clouds shinned bright He closed his eyes and clutched his hands And began to say his one last prayer "Oh lord, please do your best To grant me just one last request." "Tell my mother I'll be her moon Tell my father, I'll see him soon Tell my wife I'll be her star Tell my children Daddy won't be far Tell my brothers I'll be their shield Tell my sisters their wounds I'll heal I died a hero on 9/11 And became your angel here in heaven." -MaryKate Muldowney- Age 16 September 15th, 2001 CONTACT ME E-Mail: KateLimeRN@gmail.com
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September 11th, 2001 marks a day in American history that will never be forgotten. For my family in particular, it is a day in which we lost someone very special to us. My uncle, Richard T. Muldowney JR. was a well-respected FDNY firefighter for Engine 16, Ladder 7 in Manhattan. He was just coming off duty the morning of September 11th, and should have been going home. When the initial alert came into the station, however, he chose to hop back on the truck and take the call with the rest of his crew. They never returned. I was 16 years old, a sophomore in high school, and just so happened to stay home sick that day. When I woke up and turned on the television, I couldn't believe my eyes. The footage of smoke coming out of the World Trade Center was enough to make me sick to my stomach. I thought I was watching a "this day in history" special, not knowing the events that were about to unfold in front of my eyes. When we received notification that Richie was missing, we began planning our trip to New York. All 11 of us. We spent the next two weeks there just waiting for an answer. Waiting for a call, waiting for a sighting.... waiting for SOMETHING. Good news or bad, we just wanted an answer. We would get calls from people saying that they saw Richie and that he's fine, later to learn that it was a mistake. We never found him. On September 15th, 2001 I began writing a poem. I tried to imagine what this entire experience must have been like for my uncle. What was he thinking? What did he see? What did he hear? Was he afraid? All of these thoughts and images became the inspiration for "His Last Call", and it is a piece that holds a special place in my family's heart.